A Bad Day

Everyone has bad days. I haven't had too many bad days lately, just kind of boring ones. Work has been slow, the weather is getting colder and gloomier, and money is getting tighter with our country's current state of affairs. But all in all, I'm doing just fine. Bailey, our fearless pooch, on the other hand, had a bad day the other day. This is what I came home to find in our living room.

And this is how she reacted to mommy yelling. Not...a...care...in...the...world.

After I cleaned up after the debacle, Bailey and I went out to our familiar stopping grounds, the field by our condo. We do the same exact thing every night. Get the ball, and head out about 10 seconds after I get home. It's her release from being cooped up all day I suppose. When we got there she went to the bathroom 3 or 4 times, about 2 or 3 more than she normally does. I lost my bags to pick it up, and had to chase some poor girl down to see if she had extra bags because Bailey was still going all over the place. This was not normal. Not sure if she ate some of the bed in all her furry, or just didn't feel well.

After the field and throwing her bed in the dumpster, Bailey seemed a little lost all night. I found her in the guest room, kind of hiding out. Then thirty minutes later I found her in our bedroom, laying in the dark. Again, not normal for a dog we often refer to as the Tasmanian Devil.

Later, after I made and cleaned up dinner, I laid on the couch and she jumped up and cuddled next to me, falling asleep with her head on my lap. I'd look down at her and she would be gazing up at me like she couldn't ever live without me, like she wanted me to make all her pain go away. It was so cute, and I love Bailey moments like this. I feel needed and like the mommy I long to be. I felt like with a little tlc I turned her bad day into an almost bearable one.

Wine, Wine and More Wine

Mondays are apparently my days for talking about how much wine I drank over the weekend. I can't help it, I love wine, and my husband might just love it more. So when I first learned about Chicago Gourmet that was happening this past weekend, I was excited, but also hoping I secretly wouldn't be able to go because I'd be pregnant. That's what us "infertiles" do. We plan things, fun things, like vacations, nights out with friends, things that involve alcohol or doing back flips, secretly hoping that we won't be able to join in the fun. Secretly hoping we will have to cancel, or just have to sit on the sidelines and watch everyone else have fun. When you've been trying to have a baby for 2+ years, more times than not, you have no reason to cancel. Kevin and I made a pact...if this past IVF cycle didn't work, we'd go to Chicago Gourmet. Tickets were a bit expensive, so this was a treat of sorts for us. But oh so much fun.

Chicago Gourmet was held in Chicago's Millennium Park, starting on Friday, ending on Sunday. We decided that we were just going to go on Saturday. We arrived at noon to endless booths of wine. We were like Bailey at the dog beach, unable to contain our excitement, and overwhelmed with all the fun ahead of us. We went straight for the closest booth to the door, sidling up, trying to act cool, like we go to wine tastings every weekend. I don’t think we were fooling anyone, because we just stared at all the bottles of wine they had, and then said kind of loudly, “this is our first booth!!” The "sommelier" nodded his head and grinned at us, and we had found a new best friend. He poured us at least 3 full glasses. We started with a sparkling Prosecco, and ended with some red I will never remember. 15 minutes later, our cheeks were hurting from the huge grins on our faces. This might be what a little piece of our heaven would be like.

Not only was there wine, but plenty of food from the top chefs in the Chicago area. We walked around, tried some wine, ate a crab cake, and repeated this for over 3 hours. The weather was a perfect sunny 80 degrees, the wine was delicious, the food scrumptious, the accommodations outstanding, and Kevin and I? Well, we were drunkity drunk drunk. Yes, a baby in the belly is always the goal, but sometimes, being able to join in the fun is just what the doctor ordered.

Friday Fun

Happy Friday! What do you think of the new heading? I can't promise I won't always keep changing it...I just seem to get sick of it after a few weeks. Keeps it fresh :)

Time for some Friday Fun! I went searching for funny IVF cartoons. I thought there has to be something out there for IVF. And I was right. Enjoy!

Still Got It

My sister-in-law recently posted some pictures on Facebook of her wedding a year ago almost to the day. I remember her wedding because we were attempting IVF #2. I remember going into the bathroom during the reception to “shoot up.” I remember having a couple drinks and feeling like I did the shot of Gonal F wrong. And since I wasn’t sure, I couldn’t do it again, and had to have faith that I had done it correctly. I remember starting to cry because I thought I had messed up the whole cycle. I, however, started crying (hard) during my sister-in-law’s dad speech, and everyone thought I was crying because it was a speech between a father and daughter. Little did they know.

I was looking closely at the pictures and thought about times that were probably a little happier. We hadn’t been pregnant yet, but that would be the cycle that would give us Nicholas and then take him away from us. Going through that time, I’m sure I didn’t feel so happy, but unknowingly, things are never as bad as they seem, or can get.

Knowing myself, I probably went on a few extra runs the week before so the bridesmaid dress fit a bit better. And looking closely at those photos, something clicked in my head, and it was instantaneous that I NEEDED to get out for run. Since I do the progesterone shots in my bum, I can’t keep running like normal because of the deep bruising and all around pain. It feels like someone has stuck a few golf balls around my upper butt. Not a pleasant feeling. I got the bright idea to buy some athletic tape and try to tape my butt down before I went for the run. Lo and behold it worked! I barely felt the pain in my behind, mostly just pain from wanting to die out on the running path.

But I didn't die out there. I made it. I ran for 32 minutes, with a quick stop to stretch after 15 minutes. I was so proud of myself at the end of the run, that I kept my running watch on all night (even in the shower) so I could look down and see that I ran for 32 minutes. I came home in a better mood, was a better “mommy” to Bailey (even let her share my favorite blanket…well, ok she stole it, but I didn’t take it away from her). Ate a healthy dinner, did some laundry and called it a night. Going through IVF the past 2 years, I’ve been at a constant struggle with myself to keep a part of what makes me...me. I feel like I’ve lost huge parts of myself the past few years, and anything I can do to stay in the present, the positive and happy times, I must do. For 32 minutes last night, I was here again, and I still got it.

Pain in the Ass

Sorry for the swear word and to anyone that might offend. But my tush hurts. One might wonder how I got a pulled muscle of sorts in my rump. Well, I am embarrassed to say it's from my pottery class. Yes, I know. I am probably the only person who has suffered an injury while learning to throw pots on the wheel. This class was supposed to be a stress reliever, but it is starting to stress me out!

Yesterday, for class #2 (out of 5), everyone showed up to class right on time and we all just kind of looked towards the wheels. If you are trying to get a visual of the wheel, think of the famous scene from Ghost. Our regular instructor was no where to be seen, and we had a fill in named Dustin. To get a visual of Dustin, take every preconceived notion of what a male pottery instructor would be like, ball them up, and there you have Dustin.

After some instruction on how to knead the bubbles out of our clay, and purchasing a bucket and tools, Dustin showed us how to use the wheel. I was like a kid in a candy store, right up front to see everything so I could bring home the best bowl or vase ever made. Dustin showed us how to get the clay started on the wheel, water it down, mold it with our hands, water it down some more, speed up the wheel, wait, slow it down, stick a finger in the middle to create that whole bowl effect, keep your elbows on your knees, keep bent over directly over the clay. After 10 minutes of this, I was still clueless, and just sat down at a wheel to start. It looked so easy, I figured I'd have a couple of finished pots at the end of 3 hours.

It took me 3 minutes to realize I am nothing like Demi Moore at this new found hobby. It stresses me out. My perfect ball of clay looked like a potato that lost the fight. After 2.5 hours of trying my hand at throwing pots, well, I had one pathetic little “pot” if you want to call it that. It looks more like a toothbrush holder actually. I did make a pretty great looking bowl, but when I went to take it off the wheel the bottom of the bowl was left on the wheel. So the bowl then became another ball of clay.

I came home covered in clay, messy, stressed out. Last night as I was falling asleep, I had visions of the wheel, and how I could make my bowls and pots better. This morning I woke up with a pulled muscle in my bum. After trying to figure out what the heck I did, I showed Kevin how you have to sit when using the wheel, and bingo, wouldn’t you know it hurt like hell. I think I need to watch Ghost again this week.

Friday Fun

Time for some Friday Fun! This week, I don't have anything to excitingly fun, but an article I found on CNN. I love when you find an article about someone who has been through almost exactly what you have been through. And she writes it with a sense of humor as well. Hope everyone had a great week, and even better weekend. Go Cubbies!


By Cindy Chupack

(OPRAH.com) -- It was the day before Christmas, and I was reading "Newsweek's" cover story on diet and fertility when I stood up, ripped the roof off a gingerbread house, and ate it, like Godzilla.

A doctor told the author to visualize her husband's face on a cartoon sperm, with arms welcoming her egg.

This was not something the cover story recommended, by the way.
It was a reaction to something the cover story recommended, namely that you shouldn't eat a lot of red meat if you're trying to get pregnant.

I was trying to get pregnant. My husband and I had been trying for two and a half years. I also had a steak on the grill that was going to be my lunch before I decided to have the gingerbread house instead.

"Trying" is a good word for this process. At first, trying just meant sex without birth control, but when you marry at 40, trying quickly becomes more trying, and eventually we had the requisite army of experts, most of whom insurance doesn't cover, but of course, you can't put a price on a baby.

You can put a price on not having a baby. That's running us close to $45,000 in credit card debt. So by the time I was reading that "Newsweek" article, I'd done it all... drugs, suppositories, IUI, IVF, that test with the blue dye, acupuncture, stinky teas, hormone injections.

Once, we were driving to see a doctor in Beverly Hills, and my husband asked what kind of doctor he was, and I said, "I don't know, but someone said to see him, so we're seeing him!"

It was that doctor, incidentally, who told me to visualize my husband's face on a cartoon sperm, with arms welcoming my egg to him. We decided the guy was a quack, so I only saw him twice a week for about four months.
The thing is, when you're racing your biological clock, people can tell you pretty much anything and you'll do it. I still worry I need to track down some saint named Amachi so I can bring her red bananas.

Recently, a friend said something about standing on your head. He wasn't sure if you were supposed to do it before sex, during, or just in general, but this worked for two women he knew, so I guess I have to stand on my head now. I'll probably visualize my husband's face on a cartoon sperm while I'm at it -- not because I'm onboard with that. It's just a hard image to shake.

So it was kind of revolutionary that for the holidays we went to Jackson Hole and we didn't even take ovulation sticks, which might not seem crazy to the average person, but when you're in the middle of this madness, not knowing when you're ovulating is like not knowing where your cell phone is.

And that was the idea. We wanted to lose ourselves for a while. We wanted to just have sex. Every day, you know, just in case. But even so, it was fun again, and that's how everyone says it finally worked for somebody they know, or somebody somebody they know knows.

In the weeks after that trip, I felt good. Well, bad-good. I mean, my breasts were tender, I felt a little nauseous, I was dead tired... I had all the bad-good signs of pregnancy, which I recognized because I'd been pregnant before.
We actually got pregnant on our wedding night, and for a moment we were "those people" (you know, people who got pregnant right away, maybe even accidentally, which now seems as likely to me as accidentally finding Osama bin Laden), but back then I didn't know any better, so we were "those people" until three months later, when we found out the baby's head was too large, and there was fluid where there shouldn't be, and there was a malformed heart, and the baby probably wouldn't make it to term, and, as the doctor said, we should seriously consider termination unless we were deeply religious.

That news was hard to take, but even harder because I felt guilty. The truth is, at that time, I didn't want to be pregnant. We'd just gotten married. I still wasn't sure it was going to last. I also thought a little time as a couple would be nice since it took us 40 years to find each other. But my husband was eager to start a family, so the morning after he proposed, we were walking on the beach and I threw my birth control pills into the ocean in a dramatic display of love and good faith, and it made him so happy that I had to resist the urge to run screaming into the surf to recover them.

I'd always wanted to have a baby... in five years. I'd been saying I wanted to have a baby in five years for about 20 years. I just never felt ready. But ready or not, on day seven of our honeymoon I felt nauseous, and, thinking I had a stomach bug, I stayed in our room.

We were in South Africa on a safari, and they had warned us to keep the sliding doors to our bungalow locked because of the monkeys, but I thought they meant when we were out. And I was in, curled up in bed, when all of a sudden I heard the door open. Then I heard this thump thump thump, and I got up and looked into the living room, and there were seven monkeys throwing food around, and they froze as if I had just walked in on a teenager's party. And the funny thing, looking back, was that this was my fear. This is what I thought it would be like to have children. This is why I never felt ready.

Cut to the day of the "termination." We were already distraught, and then on the way to the appointment, we got pulled over by the police because my husband didn't see a woman walk into the crosswalk. I did see the woman, but she was on the other side of the street, plus I was trying not to say anything, as my husband had taken to charging me five dollars every time I told him how to drive, so the policeman pulled us over and said, "Are you trying to kill someone?!"
And I was thinking, "Yes, actually. That's exactly what we're trying to do, and if you would let us go, we could get on with it."

I remember, the rest of the way to the clinic, I was pissed at my husband for not seeing the woman, and he was pissed at the policeman for being such a dick, and the truth was, we were both just pissed at the universe for giving us this gift that we had to return.

But now, thanks to Jackson Hole, we were getting a second chance. And this time, when I took the pregnancy test, I was praying for a positive result rather than dreading it. But it was negative. That was in the morning, and then a few hours later I was reading "Newsweek" and the next thing I knew, I was eating a gingerbread house.

The gingerbread itself was pretty hard. I think it was made in Korea and not meant for eating. It came from a kit, one of six kits my friend purchased for a gingerbread house decorating party, so I had decorated alongside five women who were all mothers, some several times over, one with her newborn son in tow, and I know it's not a competition, but my gingerbread house was the best.
I had decorated the roof with white icing, sour balls, red Twizzlers, and green gumdrops, none of which tasted very good. And what I really wanted was the door, which was made of Hershey's Special Dark chocolate.

Maybe you're wondering why I didn't just pull the door off. I tried that, but the icing is like glue, and the door was stuck to the front of the house, and the whole house was stuck to a foil-covered piece of cardboard, so you had to eat the roof before you could eat the door. Well, you didn't have to eat the roof. You could, I suppose, just rip it off. But I was upset for all the reasons I've mentioned, and red meat was the final straw.

See, not only did I have a steak on the grill, I'd had a steak on the grill almost every day for the past year. I'd gone from my highest weight ever to my lowest ever on a doctor-supervised "eating plan," which was really a "not eating plan." I got only two meals a day, three ounces of protein per meal, so I decided my protein would be filet mignon whenever possible. My plan was to lose weight until I got pregnant (it's supposedly healthier to get pregnant at a lower weight), but since it was taking so long to get pregnant, I ate a lot of red meat, and I lost a lot of weight. Fifty pounds, to be exact.
For the first time ever, I felt like someone who belonged in L.A. I bought a pair of skinny jeans and strutted my significantly smaller stuff down Robertson Boulevard. I felt, in a word, fabulous. So fabulous, in fact, it took me a while to notice that I wasn't getting my period. And not for the reason I'd been hoping.
As depressing as it is to get your period each month when you're trying to get pregnant, it's nothing compared with not getting your period for five months when you're trying to get pregnant. So although I loved my skinny jeans, I didn't love them enough to give up having a baby, and I still don't think it's fair that that might be the price I have to pay for wearing them. (I thought $178 was expensive!) It's like I made a deal with the skinny devil.

I did finally get my period back once I went off my not eating plan, which I did with the gusto of someone who's been told to gain weight for a role. And also thanks to Dr. Dao at Tao of Wellness (a center for Chinese medicine), who suggested electroacupuncture to jump-start my ovaries, which, I'm not kidding, involved tiny little spark plugs that attached to needles in my stomach and caused a zap zap zap sensation. There was a control that changed the speed and intensity of the zap zap zap, and usually Dr. Dao would set the dial, but once he left me alone with it and let me control it, and that's when I wondered if maybe I was in some sort of cruel medical experiment where they try to figure out how far a woman will go to have a baby. Will she stand on her head? Lose 50 pounds? Blow up her ovaries? Keep turning it up until ... poof! Because, really, how much disappointment can one woman take? How many times can you be hopeful when odds are you're going to get sucker punched by your period or a negative pregnancy test or something else you never saw coming? And yet you can't stress about that, because stress is the worst thing for fertility.

I know, by the way, that once you have a baby, this all gets put behind you. I know the end of this movie. I don't know where or when or how. We've discussed donor eggs, but I don't really like guests in my house, so in my womb -- I don't know.

But that's the point. You don't know. You don't know what dream you'll be willing to abandon and what dream you'll be willing to adopt. You only know that once you have your baby, the movie will be rewritten so that that is the only possible ending, the only baby for you, and for now, you're just slogging your way through the second act.

Which you have to do, I guess. As in any worthwhile endeavor, you have to go through the hard, unsavory part before you get to the good stuff.
You have to eat the roof before you can eat the door.

By Cindy Chupack from "O, The Oprah Magazine," September 2008

The Biggest Loser

Last night the season premiere of the Biggest Loser came on tv. I love this show. Back in my non-trying to conceive days I used to do triathlons. I used to run. Often. So for some reason this show really gets to me. I think it’s that with the right help, people can really lose a lot of weight, and watching their self confidence go from 0-10 in a matter of weeks is amazing to me. I really cheer them on from my little living room every week.

I thought after this failed cycle, we’d be able to do IVF right away this month. I started my birth control, and then called the IVF nurse about “my dates,” meaning when to start certain medications and when the retrieval and transfer will be. I spoke to the nurse yesterday and she about fell out of her chair when I told her I started the birth control pills. She said since I was technically pregnant (my beta was 16), that we have to wait another month/cycle. I took the news about as good as if someone told me my dog was dying. One month is nothing to mere mortals, but to those trying to conceive, for over 2 years now, it feels like another year. Once again, I felt like the biggest loser.

So after some moping on the couch after work, I asked Kevin to pick me up some chocolate peanut butter ice cream on his way home from work. He did, :) and it was delicious. I started watching The Biggest Loser and decided I can either mope around for this month, or do something. I am still 8lbs fatter after the pregnancy and doing more IVF cycles than any person should go through. I decided this month I’d focus on losing that extra bit of weight. Then when I DO get pregnant (see how positive I am?) my weight will not be starting from some astronomical number. So today was day #1 of “project skinny jeans.”

After feeling like the biggest loser yesterday, I hope to actually be one in the next few weeks.

First Time Potter

I finally did something I said I was going to do. I signed up for class and actually went even though Hurricane Ike felt like he invaded Chicago this weekend. I signed up for the “First Time Potter” class at a local art center, which involves…well, pottery. I was so excited on Sunday, I got up early, walked Bailey in the rain, stopped at Peet’s for some coffee on my way and found myself at the art studio right on time.

I walked into the art center, dripping wet and soggy, shook out my umbrella and quickly found reception. I got my “clay ticket” and sought out my classroom. I had visions of a cute little room with pottery wheels and already made pots lining the walls. I was a little taken aback, because the whole room, covered in dust colored clay, was devoid of color. I found a seat and sat down with about 8 other women. We all kind of looked around and sized each other up, and no one said a word to each other. It felt like we were waiting to take a final exam in college, and everyone was anxious and wanted to get on with the class.

Our instructor finally walked in and with a combination of strange, funny and awkwardness, put us all at ease. He went around the room so we could introduce ourselves. I was feeling pretty confident with my pottery making abilities because I consider myself a fairly creative person and love to do crafts. After we went around the room to introduce ourselves, I started to feel like a pottery loser. About 80% of the room had a degree in pottery, or some sort of art related major. I majored in English. I have done nothing creative (except for knitting) in about 15 years. Two friends who sat together introduced themselves and one was a lawyer and the other, a consultant. I was wondering how I could change seats and befriend them because I know that lawyer is not doing very much pottery in her free time. Well, I joined this class to perhaps meet some new people, and let my creative juices flow. It didn’t matter if I was going to be the worst potter. I’m a strong, successful women, surely I can make some pots!

Something else magical happened though. I looked up at the clock 2 ½ hours later and realized I had gotten lost in myself. I thought about absolutely nothing for over 2 hours, but molding that clay. I took a ball of the wet clay and molded it in my hands until I created a bowl, an open box and a little knick knack. I don’t really care if these come out of the kiln and look ridiculous. It was nice to escape life for a few hours. I didn’t think about the dog, our messy condo, being hungry, work, family, IVF, babies. I just molded clay.

I haven't put time aside for myself where there was no tv, no cell phone, no internet or email, not a even a book to read. My mind just stopped, for the first time in a long time.

Friday Fun

I decided that every Friday I'm going to try to post something funny...or fun. I'll try to find a funny photo, funny story, or fun Friday fact. Life is so serious, so let's have a little fun on Fridays!

I took this from Jaime, who stole it from Alicia, who stole it from another blogger...well, you get the idea. Pretty simple concept...

The Name Game
1.Your rock star name (first pet, current car): Topsy Murano

2.Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Cookie Dough Prada

3.Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal): Green Dog

4.Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born): Marie Chicago

5.Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name): brojo

6.Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Coral Cosmo

7.NASCAR name (the first names of your grandfathers): Ronald Albert

8.Dancer name (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy): Prada Gumdrop

9.TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Janis Juno

10.Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower): Summer Gerber Daisy

11.Cartoon name:(favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now): Apple Jeans

12.Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Coffee Christmas

13.Movie star name (first pet, first street where you lived): Topsy Nagle

Not sure if this is "fun" to anyone but me, since I am the only one who knows the meaning to these. They will get funnier, I promise...

New Season, New Hobbies

Lately I’ve been feeling sedentary in my life. Granted, when you are going through IVF, the doctors tell you to take it easy, and since running is my exercise of choice, that doesn’t leave me many options. But lately I’ve been thinking about what I want to do as fall and winter is approaching. I can’t just come home from work everyday and hang out with the dog anymore. Kevin tends to work a lot longer hours, and I get off at 5pm (sometimes I work late until, oh, 5:30pm, but that’s even pushing it). So I really do have time to do something after work, and still get home to take care of Bailey.

I have been thinking about what I REALLY want to do. Do I want to go sky-diving, take a tap class or a cooking class (my husband is pushing for this one)? A few of my friends scrapbook, and one even took a pole dancing class. It got me thinking about what I want to do that still remains in the limits of doing IVF (since we’re trying once more after this failed cycle), getting home at a reasonable hour, beneficial to me in some way and not overly expensive.

I have come up with some things that I’m currently looking into:
· Yoga – I’d really like to “practice” yoga instead of just going once or twice a month (who am I kidding, I’ve gone about 2 times total in my whole life)
· Painting or Drawing Class – I used to be so creative in high school and college. I was always doing crafts, making things or sewing and would often make homemade gifts for people. I’ve tried scrapbooking, but it kind of bores me. I’d really like to take a painting class.
· Knitting – I can knit a scarf and that’s about it. I need to learn how to knit “in the round,” and knit a hat to go with my scarf.
· Running – I am going to run while I can until I no longer can run with the next IVF cycle. I miss it, and I can tell Bailey is ready to poop on someone’s flowers again.
· Another Exercise Class – I really would love to take a tap dancing class as I used to tap dance when I was little. When I get excited about something I still do a little “shuffle-ball-change.”
· I’m still thinking, and welcome any suggestions.

So in the next week or so I will be testing the waters and signing up for a new class. I think it will be good for me. Fall is definitely here in Chicago, and perhaps after being in school for 16 years, I feel the need to learn something new.

Back in Town

It's time to clean the sand out of my suitcase. Sort the clothes for the wash, and put away mini shampoo bottles. We've picked the dog up from the kennel and she is settling back into her routine. Our vacation is officially over.

As I am usually the "planner" for vacations, I sometimes get a little nervous if everything is going to turn out as I want it to. Is the hotel going to be nice? Are we staying in a nice area? Is there going to be enough to do? Fortunately I would answer "yes" to all those questions for this vacation. Thankfully everything turned out great. We went to Santa Barbara and LA because we were at a Charity Black Tie for a great non-profit back in May, and in all my drunkeness I bid on this vacation and we won it!

We started in Santa Barbara, and we fell in love with the small city. We hit up about 18-20 wineries (just little sips for me) while we were there. I think we've been to Napa Valley about 4 times, so I didn't really think Santa Barbara would compare to Napa. I'm not a fan of being wrong, but was happy to be so this time around. The wineries there are gorgeous and give Napa wineries a good run for there money. We decided before we left we didn't want to be Sideways "groupies," (we are too cool, obviously) but it turned out we pretty much went to every place the movie was filmed. It's one of my favorite movies so it was fun to go to the wineries that they hit.

After Santa Barbara we headed to LA. As part of our winnings, Jimmy Kimmel Live tickets with "VIP access" were included. We grabbed a couple friends living in the LA area and went on Wednesday night. We saw Russell Brand and Christina Hendricks. Probably not the best show in the world, but it was pretty fun nonetheless. I am even on tv for about 10 seconds at the end of the show. I think the best part was getting to sit in the green room before the show playing pool, having some drinks and playing Ms. Pacman for free. And Russell Brand and the Jimmy Kimmel band were hanging out there also. I felt pretty cool I must admit.

That pretty much rounded out our trip. Happy to be back, but sad to face our every day realities again. Not sure if this IVF worked or not, but will be finding out more this weekend. In the meantime, I'll keep busy sorting out our wine purchases, doing laundry and putting the suitcases away. We are officially back to reality.